Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to demand my daughter’s voice, her consent—but I couldn’t risk Nicole changing her mind. Not now.
“Fine. Next weekend.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “Margot has some issues. Behavior issues.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Like what?”
“She doesn’t talk much. Kind of sullen and difficult. You’ll see. But it’s time you stepped up, Vance. I’ve done what I can.”
Time I stepped up. Done what she could. Anger surged through me, hot and black. “I wanted her. You know that.”
“You said that, but you stayed in France.”
“I had a job, Nicole. And you made sure I couldn’t see her. Don’t put this on me. I begged you to let me see her, and you ignored every attempt.”
She sighed dramatically, as only she could. “Vance, I know you love to see yourself as the victim, but the truth is you’ve been selfish and untrustworthy. I had no choice but to keep her from you.”
“You took her to America and refused to come back. You had me blocked by the courts. God only knows what you’ve told Margot about me.”
“Vance, for once, can you think of someone besides yourself?”
I almost lost it. I had to step away from the counter, breathe through the fury, picture my little girl as she’d been—the freckles across her nose, the way her small hand fit inside mine.
“When do we sign papers?” I asked finally.
“Tomorrow. Three p.m.. My attorney’s office.”
“You felt confident I’d agree,” I said.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist looking like a great dad.”
I was a great dad. Before she stole my chance to be one.
“Text me the address. I’ll be there—with the check and an attorney of my own.”
“Great. See you then.”
She hung up.
I stood in the middle of the tiny apartment, phone still pressed to my ear, the silence roaring in my head. Margot was coming home. My daughter—my baby girl who thought I’d abandoned her, who’d been raised on lies—was finally coming to live with me.
In a week.
I should have been ecstatic. This was everything I’d been praying for. But all I felt was terror. I had no bedroom for her, no sense of who she’d become, no idea how to bridge the six years between us.
She was coming home to a stranger.
And that stranger was me.
I called my mother.
She answered on the second ring. “Good morning, sweetheart. How was your date?”
“Mama.” My voice cracked. “Nicole called.”
Silence. Then: “What did she want?”
I told her everything. The new fiancé. The ultimatum. The million-dollar demand. The fact that Margot was coming to live with me—in a week.
